


Mine and Yours

by cellard00rs



Series: Divide Series [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Sex, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Princess Unattainable, Sibling Incest, Smut, Wee bits of angst, d d and more d roleplay, my poorly written humor, wee bit of bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the 'Divide' verse - Stan and Ford celebrate their shared birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine and Yours

**Author's Note:**

> For [strawberry-writes-stuff](http://strawberry-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)! Fits within ['This Divide Between You And I'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4371392/chapters/9921431) but you don't really have to read that to read this - just know that the Stans are in a secret relationship in their teens.

“ _Psst_! Hey! Hey, Ford!”

Ford Pines rolls over, burying his head deeper into his pillow.

“Stanford! Stan-foo _ooo_ ord!”

Ford groans and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

His bed starts wobbling like mad and someone is clearly jumping on it. He feels a pillow smack him repeatedly as the crazed lunatic that he’s going to throttle starts chanting, “Ford, Ford, Fordsy Ford, Ford, _Fooooord_ -”

“WHAT?!” Ford explodes, sitting up and glaring at his brother.

Stan has the hugest smile on his face as he cheekily asks, “You up yet?”

Ford moans miserably as he falls back, grabbing his pillow and putting it over his face. Stan chuckles and taps the top of it, “Come on, Sixer – don’t you know what today is?”

“Friday?” Ford deadpans, his voice muffled by the weight on his face.

“Yeah, but you know what else it is?”

“The day I finally kill you?”

“Clooooose,” Stan laughs, “I’ll give you a hint – we share it.”

“Stanley, we share a lot of things.”

“Yeesh – so grouchy!”

“You woke me up, you aggravating asshole!”

“So, you need another hint? Fine, how’s about this, I’ll sing it to you…” Stan draws the pillow away and just as Ford is about to beg off, because the last thing he wants is to hear Stan sing (something he just cannot do) his brother is giving him that smoldering look that just makes him stop dead in his tracks. Stan eases closer, voice somehow a seductive purr despite how off key it is, “Happy Birthday, Mr. Fordsy…Happy Birthday, to you…”

He eases himself over Ford, covering his body, pushing him down onto the mattress and Ford swallows thickly, cheeks warm as Stan continues, “Happy Birthday…my Fordsy…”

His eyes drift down to Ford’s lips and he brushes his own mouth against it, their lips lightly cling as he whispers, “Happy Birthday…to us…”

A soft sound leaves Ford as Stan concludes the singing with a much desired kiss. A kiss that he eagerly returns, fingers combing thorough Stan’s hair. They make out for a little bit and when Stan draws back he sticks out his tongue, “Yuck. You’ve got morning breath.”

Ford’s face scrunches up, annoyed, and he finds his pillow to pelt Stan with, “Oh, like you taste so great first thing in the morning! You haven’t even brushed your teeth yet!”

“Yeah, but you’re used to that from me.”

“Shut up, I hate you.” Ford says but his laughing gives away the lie. He gets to his feet and stretches, “I’d also like to say that I didn’t forget it was our birthday. It just didn’t immediately come to mind when I was so rudely awakened.”

“Well, excuse me for the enthusiasm. It’s not every day a guy turns eighteen!”

Ford rolls his eyes, “And eighteen is great why, exactly?”

“I dunno. Older than seventeen, right? Gotta be some perks to growing up.”

“Can’t think of too many,” Ford mutters and he leaves the room to go brush his teeth and shower. When he comes back Stan is waiting for him with a frown, “What’s all that for?”

“I was thinking about it while you were gone and you’re kinda right. Not much excitement to the older birthdays. I mean, when we’re in our twenties we’ll get to drink for legal – and that’s okay but, I mean, the fun of drinking is when you’re not allowed to, y’know? So, what do we have to look forward to?” He says this with a sort of melancholy air and Ford knows he’s thinking about how their future is sort of unclear in general. And not just in regards to their relationship.

While they’ve talked about the Stan-O-War on and off for years neither of them have really made any concrete plans past high school. And high school’s reaching its end. Ford has secretly played around with the idea of applying to a couple of colleges – maybe taking up a career in science. It isn’t that he’s completely against the idea of sailing off with his brother, but he can’t see how that will be feasible long term.

Not that he has the heart to bring any of this up to Stan. He knows Stan’s desperately in love with the idea of their sailing off. Now more than ever, probably because he thinks if they sail off together they can…can be together permanently. And secretly, oh so secretly, Ford wants that too. He wants to be with Stan the way he is for as long as possible – forever, even. But he knows better – he knows better.

They can’t make this work long term…right? They’re related. There’s no where they can go where this will be accepted. And Stan - while he will never, ever, EVER, in a million years ever admit it – is at his heart a family man. In other words, he wants kids. He’s never said it, but Ford’s seen him with kids before and babies and Stan gets this really stupid, goofy look on his face. He clearly likes their innocence and their questions and he makes this big deal, like it annoys him, but he obviously loves it.

He loves kids.

And he’ll probably want them one day. Ford knows it. And Ford can see him being a great father. A much better father than their own, which is something he will take to his grave. But the point remains – Stan’s going to want kids and Ford will most definitely not be able to give them to him.

Hence the troubles with their future.

But their future is not today.

Today is their birthday and Ford doesn’t want it spoiled just because he said the wrong thing, so he manages a smile, “Presents, of course. Presents are always something to look forward to.”

This immediately perks Stan up, “Ohhhhh yeah! _Free stuff_! Free stuff is always good! What do you think Ma and Pops got us?”

Ford clears his throat, suddenly shy, “A-Actually I already know.”

“Yeah?”

He bobs his head and Stan rushes over, playfully punching his arm, “Come on, don’t hold out on me, bro! What is it?”

“I…well…see, it’s sort of like a present for both of us, because I suggested it and they didn’t seem against the idea but that’s probably because they don’t know why-”

Stan drags a hand down his face, “Oh my god! Get to the point, Poindexter!”

“Ma and Pops are going out for the night. All night. Um, all weekend, in fact. They’re…they’re not coming back until Sunday.”

Stan’s eyes widen, “We…we got the place to ourselves?”

Ford nods and starts talking fast, one part excited and two parts nervous about Stan’s reaction, “I…told them about how much fun we had in New York and, I mean, not the specifics obviously but about seeing the sights and the musical and how they should really consider going themselves and hey, why not do it this weekend because a great present for us would be if they were out of the house because we really want to have a party here but with just our friends and how I think we’re old enough to have that and responsible enough and Dad was totally against it at first but Ma-”

His words are cut off as Stan takes a handful of his shirt and tugs him over, kissing him passionately. This leads to another make out session until both are breathless and dazed and Stan presses his forehead to Ford’s, “This is going to be SO awesome!”

 

+

 

Mrs. Pines is understandably clingy before going, wanting to wish her two boys happiness on their big day and extoling upon her visions of them having a good time at their party while Mr. Pines is the complete opposite – it’s clear he wants to hit the road before there’s too much traffic and that he’s still seriously questioning whether or not this is a good idea.

He keeps barking orders and warnings at his sons and vows that if anything is damaged while he’s gone they’ll be hell to pay. But then he sort of softens and gruffly tells them it’s okay if they have a good time and he’s hoping they have some girls over, but if they DO have some girls over to make sure nothing untoward happens. And Stan yet again assures him that he won’t be a grandpa too early and he gets a smack upside his head for the ‘smart ass comment’ but a thin lipped smile confirming that that’s what the old man wanted to hear.

Once their parents are gone and the door is locked behind them, Stan turns to Ford with waggling eyebrows and Ford laughs, dizzy with elation as he pulls his brother close and starts kissing him. They wind up on the couch – a heap of tangled limbs and hormones and there’s nothing but the sound of their lips meeting for quite some time.

Eventually they both move up for air, their clothes rumpled, hair sticking out at odd angels, faces pink from exertion. Stan speaks first, panting, “Well…that was fun.”

Ford looks at the clock and throws an arm over his eyes, “Oh my god…it’s almost been an hour!”

“Really? That’s AWESOME. What’s the world record for kissing? Bet we could beat it!”

Ford laughs and sits up, head spinning, “We could or we could get something to eat. We got that money from Grauntie in the mail. I was thinking we could get some pizza.”

“I like the way your mind works!”

“I am a genius,” Ford offers with a laugh and he gets to his feet, sort of wobbling because he’s still recovering. Stan has a way of removing his equilibrium. It’s pretty impressive. He finds the phone book and dials up Joey’s Pizza. As always, Stan asks for the ‘It-Used-To-Have-A-Face’ Pizza – which is essentially a pizza that features all the toppings that used to have a face (i.e – bacon, pepperoni, sausage - any meat product) and Ford orders himself a plain cheese because he’s not big on toppings.

Stan argues that he just likes cheese because he’s cheesy and this is usually met with an affectionate sigh because his brother is such a sucker for puns. Honestly – Ford has never met anyone who loves wordplay as much as Stanley does. But that’s just one of one hundred things that’s likeable about him. After that’s done, they end up cuddled on the couch watching television.

It’s nicely domestic and every now and then Ford sneaks a peek at Stan. His brother looks content, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, the other around Ford and Ford feels…good. Relaxed and comfortable and right. This is how he always wants to feel. He closes his eyes and rests against Stan and tries to imagine what it would be like if this was the way their life always was. Like this – steady, still, but just…perfect.

It doesn’t last because, of course, nothing ever does. They hear a knock at the door and greet the pizza delivery guy and each have a slice and they’re both in agreement to have some of the cake their Mom bought later. She made them blow out the candles in advance – refusing not to see them do this as she has every year since they were babies, wanting to take the yearly photo before she left.

They finish off their pizza and Ford tells Stan he’s going to hit the head when he really goes into their room and rummaged under his bed to find a neatly wrapped package. He comes out to see Stan back on the couch, eyes fixed on the television.

Ford holds out the package as he sits down next to him, “Here you go.”

Stan takes it with wide eyes, “What’s this?”

“A pony,” Ford deadpans, “What do you think? It’s your birthday present.”

Stan gives him a toothy grin, “Oh yeah! This is my favorite part! Honestly though, bro, you didn’t have to get me anything. You already gave me, like, the best possible gift earlier this year.”

“I did?”

Stan nods, “Yup.”

“What did I-?”

“Your ass,” Stan waggles his eyebrows at him, “You gave me some of that sweet, sweet ass.”

The tips of Ford’s ears turn red as he rubs at the back of his neck, “Stan!”

“What? You did and it was AWESOME. Sex with you is AWESOME.”

Not that he doesn’t agree with Stan. Because he does. He one hundred percent does. But in reverse – like, sex with Stan is awesome not…and Ford just shakes his head, as he’s confusing himself. He decides to focus on his brother instead; turning to better face him, “Go on. Open it.”

Stan rips the wrapping off and his eyes grow big, “Whoa…this is…this is…”

He holds the framed photo gingerly; as if he’s afraid he’ll damage it. It’s a sail boat rendered lovingly on black velvet. The orange, red, and gold paint used are so vibrant it’s hard to even make out that it’s black beneath and Stan’s stunned face begins to worry Ford, so he explains, “I thought you might like it. I mean, it’s not the same kind of ship as the Stan O’ War but I thought it was nice and-”

“Beautiful,” Stan breathes, “This is beautiful. Ford…thank you.”

Stan puts the picture to the side carefully before leaning over and giving Ford several chaste kisses. Ford beams, happy that his present was well received when suddenly Stan draws away, clapping loudly, “Wait, wait – I got you something too!”

He hops up from the couch and when he comes back he has…a brown paper bag. It’s rumpled and stained and he has the grace to look chagrined, “I, uh…can’t gift wrap well. And…ah…I was sorta eating chili fries when I bought this so-”

Ford just laughs, rolling his eyes as he takes the bag, “The outside doesn’t matter, Stanley. What matters is what’s inside, which issss,” he reaches in and pulls out a slim box, his eyes grow huge, “No way! The Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons Cave of Adelina expansion set!”

Stan shrugs, “Yeah, I know you like that nerd game. And I was even thinkin’, you know, I mean…I don’t _like_ it, but I could maybe play a little bit of it with you? Like, five minutes max, if you want ‘cause I know you-”

But Stan’s words are cut off as Ford lets out a high pitched squeal of delight. They both look at one another. Stunned. Ford, not expecting such a sound to escape him, coughs and tries again, forcing his voice to sound deeper, “Oh, uh…yeah. That…that’d be fun.”

Stan shakes his head, “Okay, well…where should we do this horror show?”

Ford thinks deeply about this. He knows Stan won’t want to play for long. Stan’s only attempted to play this game with him once and it…didn’t end well. To be frank, it ended with Stan chucking the dice across the room, tearing up a bunch of graph paper and proclaiming loudly that he would never, ever, EVER play this game ever again. So, for him to make this offer…it’s a huge concession on his part.

And Ford really thinks he should be rewarded for it. Not to mention, well…they DO have the entire house to themselves…

Ford gets up from the couch and does his best to play it cool, “Our room.”

Stan nods and looks like he’s being escorted to the gallows as they go into their room. Ford sets up the board, the dice, and the graph paper on the carpet and Stan sits across from him with his legs crossed, looking like he’s regretting his decision as each second passes. Little does he know that Ford has concocted a scenario he’s pretty sure Stan will enjoy and he can’t help but smile as he says, “Okay, now…normally you’d have to have a character sheet and we’d have to determine the level of your character’s statistical analysis power orb so that we can relate it directly to the amount of quadrants-”

Stan lets out what might be the world’s longest, loudest groan until Ford pipes up quickly, “BUT instead we’re just…gonna wing it.”

This gets him a look of sheer shock, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Sixer…you don’t wing this. You’ve never ‘winged this’. I didn’t even think you knew what that expression meant and certainly not in relation to your nerd game.”

“Stan,” Ford offers him a big grin, “Trust me. Okay?”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Stan returns and a gleam of excitement has entered his eyes, “Alright, well then – how are we ‘winging’ this.”

“Well, what kind of character do you want to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know – do you want to be a warrior or a mage or a priest or…”

“Warrior.” Stan answers as if it’s obvious.

“Okay, weapon of choice?”

“What does the most damage?”

This actually has a couple of different answers but Ford forces himself to keep it simple, “Sword or axe.”

“Axe.”

“Axe it is – you want to name it?”

“Do I!” Stan is starting to look like he’s having fun and Ford’s feeling the same by proxy as Stan rubs his hands together, “How’s about…Gorehound!”

“Yeesh,” Ford mutters but with clear amusement on his face, “Okay, fine. And your name?”

“Stanley.”

Ford sighs, “Stan…”

“Okay, okay fine! Hrmm…how’s about…Stan’ral Stormfury!” Stan chuckles and then adds, “The Barbarian!”

Ford shakes his head, “That’ll do. So, Stan’ral…you get on your mount-”

“What kind of mount do I have?”

“What….what kind do you want?”

“I want something vicious! Like a bear!”

“Um…all right.” Ford adds the last bit slowly, sort of surprised by how much Stan is actually starting to get into this.

“And I want to name him! Ah,” Stan scratches his chin, “I want to name him…Honeypants.”

They both laugh over this for a while and it takes them a little bit to get back to the actual game but when they do, Ford is still grinning, “Okay, so… you mount, ah…Honeypants,” he’s taken with a fit of laughter again but eventually manages to continue, “And you ride into an Elven Glade, there you see Princess Unattainabelle. She does not see you and is, in fact, bathing in the clear waters.”

“Oh ho! Okay!” Stan beams and Ford continues, “She is completely nude-”

“NICE!”

Ford shakes his head, his brother is too easy to please, and he continues, “And is washing her long, blonde-”

“No.”

“No?” Ford asks, confused.

“She should be a brunette,” Stan says, his eyes on Ford’s hair and then, looking into Ford’s eyes, “And brown eyes….and, you know…maybe some other extra features…”

Stan’s gaze has moved to Ford’s hands and Ford blushes, he goes to put his hands behind his back but Stan stops him. He takes one of Ford’s hands and idly plays with his fingers as he says softly, “Go on.”

“Oh, ah…” Ford licks his lips, “So…she is completely nude, silvery water rolling down her bare, glistening body as she washes her long, dark brunette hair in the water. Her…her brown eyes-”

“Come on, Ford…be more descriptive.”

“Her…whiskey colored eyes?”

Stan nods, still toying with Ford’s hands, and Ford tries to find the narrative thread again, “Her whiskey colored eyes fix upon you as she combs the fingers of one hand thorough her hair. She…she has six fingers on each hand and she pauses, finding her…spectacles to one side. She dons them, so as to get a better look at you. Do-do you wish to proceed?”

“Um – YEAH.” He replies as if it’s dumb for Ford to even ask.

“Okay, well, you need to roll the-” Ford doesn’t even manage to say ‘dice’ before Stan takes his one free hand to pluck up the die. He starts shaking it like mad and tosses it down, taking a quick cursory peek, “Four.”

Reluctantly (and much to Stan’s dismay) Ford has to draw his hand away so he can pick up the expansion booklet. He flips through it, scanning some of the pages, looking for the best possible outcome and ignoring the number Stan actually got, as four doesn’t usually yield excellent results. He finds something he can work with and he clears his throat as he put the book to one side. He shoots Stan a flirtatious look, batting his eyelashes as he coos in a lighter tone, “I see you, young champion. Come hither.”

He curls one finger towards Stan beckoningly. Stan swallows thickly, “Um…what do I-?”

Ford pretends to toss long hair over one shoulder, “Tell me what you desire.”

“You,” Stan breathes quickly, then blinks rapidly, “I mean, um…I guess, I…I want…Princess…what’s-her-name?”

Ford licks his lips, still playing the part of coquettish damsel, “Unattainabelle.”

“Riiiight. That.”

“Well, champion, in order to do this – you must defeat the evil overlord who keeps me prisoner here.”

Stan shrugs, “Fair enough. What’s his name?”

“He is the scourge of the Jersalian people, Crampelter the Horrible.” Ford manages to say this without breaking character and he’s pretty proud of himself for it. Stan, on the other hand, is laughing his ass off. When he recovers he wipes a tear away from his eye and, reaches for Ford’s hand, he brings it to his lips, bowing over it, “Whatever milady desires.”

He kisses Ford’s hand and Ford will, until his dying day, deny the pleased, squeaky sound that leaves him at the action. Stan releases his hand and, finding a pen nearby, he holds it up into the air, “Now, I’ll take my, uh, axe here and I shall see his insides fall onto his…outsides.”

Ford fans himself, “Oh, you are so brave, so chivalrous!”

“Yeah,” Stan’s voice has taken on a husky tone, “I’m also a beast in the sack.”

“Ar-are you?” Ford breaks slightly and Stan reaches out, hand just brushing Ford’s face, “Mmmhmm.”

Ford swallows and Stan’s eyes are on Ford’s lips but Ford’s plotted this out a little too well to give in just yet, so he draws back, knowing anticipation is what’s going to make this all the more satisfying as he continues in a haughty tone, “Well, we shall see about that _after_ you defeat the evil.”

Stan groans and pulls back. He very openly, and deliberately, adjusts himself in his pants, “Christ! Whatta tease! Fine, fine – off to battle, I guess.”

Ford walks Stan through an easy enough encounter and Stan actually seems to have a bit of fun with it. He certainly enjoys the bit where his dice roll is marked as a critical hit and he not only disembowels Crampelter but beheads him to boot. Granted, Ford is not playing the game right at all. He’s bending the rules to an outrageous degree, but he’s having too much fun with Stanley to care. Besides, he can always play the game correctly later.

For now, he just wants to have a good time with his brother. In more ways than one, as he encourages Stan to return to the Elven Glade where Princess Unattainabelle waits for him. Ford gives him an impish grin, “Stan’ral Stormfury returns victorious to find his Princess waiting for him but, alas, she has redressed and has a coy look about her. Could this be a trap?”

Stan frowns, “I don’t know…is it?”

“How about you roll the dice and see?”

Stan rolls the dice, “Uh…thirty eight?”

“Wow,” Ford says; all the playfulness dropping from his voice in his surprise, “That’s an awesome roll!”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So…what does that mean?”

Ford drops back into character, “That means, my champion, that I am prepared to offer you a prize. If you are but willing to play a game with me…”

Stan rolls his eyes, “Aren’t we already playing a game?”

“Oh, you’ll like this particular game,” Ford assures him, “It’s called Strip Dice. Based upon your rolls, Princess Unattainabelle will remove one article of clothing at a time. However, she may also roll, and is given the same abilities.”

Stan swallows thickly; surprised Ford would initiate this kind of game. Clearly Stan has been a bad (or fantastic) influence on him. He picks up the dice and rolls, landing on a two. Ford chuckles and tugs one sock off. He balls it up and tosses it away, “You might want to try and get a higher number next roll.”

The smile that takes Stan’s face brings new definition to the word jubilant as he reaches for the dice again, but Ford snatches it up first, returning in his princess tone, “Alas, Stormfury, it is my turn.”

Ford tosses the dice and gets a thirty, he beams, “That will be your shirt, please and thank you.”

He gets a huff in response, but it’s clear Stan is having a great time as he shucks his shirt up, pulling it over his head. He throws it into Ford’s lap and Ford’s hands toy with it, his palms beginning to sweat, “Your go.”

Another roll, another low number. Stan curses as Ford’s other sock comes off. Stan glares at him. Even after the socks, Ford is still wearing pants, underwear, a sweater and a button up shirt. All Stan has are his shirt, jeans, and underwear and he’s already lost his shirt, “You know, if I had known this was the way it was gonna go, I’d’ve worn more layers.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I get colder than you,” Ford returns and as he tosses the dice he lands on a fifteen, “Hmm, but to be fair – we’ll just say that now all you have to do is unbutton and unzip those jeans.”

Stan does as directed before his next throw. He gets another thirty eight and Ford almost swallows his tongue, “I can’t believe you got it again!”

“What can I say? I got the magic touch! So, you can feel free to just slip those underwear and pants off.”

“Huh? How do you figured that!?”

“Sixer, it’s clear that a thirty eight is a big honkin’ deal. So, I say, that awards me _two_ articles of clothing insteada one. And I chose underwear and pants. You can keep your shirts on, as far as I’m concerned.”

Ford crosses his arms and pretends to toss his long hair about again, “As a princess, I do not appreciate your tone! Why should I remove my underthings for you? This is but a game where are exteriors become forfeit; there is no grantee that I shall take it further.”

Stan shoved the board and graph paper out of the way, crawling over to Ford on his hands and knees, “Oh, you’ll take it further…”

Ford swallows thickly and holds up his hands, he does a poor imitation of someone outraged, lightly smacking at Stan’s shoulders, “Oh no! Get off! Unhand me, you brute!”

“Make me,” Stan growls against Ford’s mouth as he starts kissing him. Ford’s fingers clutch at Stan’s bare shoulders, nails digging in as he moans between their lips, gasping with fake indignity, “No, stop – you wild, _awful_ thing…you…you _musn’t_ …”

Stan’s stubble scraps Ford’s cheek roughly as he goes for Ford’s ear, he draws it between his teeth, nibbles on it as Ford’s words break off into desperate, encouraging whimpers. Stan pushes Ford until he falls onto his back on the carpet. He crawls over top of him, lowering his body, making sure his hips move in an enticing circle against Ford’s, almost like they’re dirty dancing.

A choked sound leaves Ford at the contact and he can feel the hard, solid outline of Stan’s erection jutting against his own. He thrusts up and Stan grunts, responding, and for a while they’re kissing and roughly rocking against one another. Ford’s fingers tangle in Stan’s hair, tugging at it and Stan hisses with pleasure. Ford knows how much Stan likes to have his hair played with – Stan’s even talked about growing it out and the very idea drives Ford’s imagination wild.

He can see Stan with his hair down to his shoulders and he envisions himself running his fingers through it, grabbing fistfuls as Stan fucks him into oblivion. God, he wants that…he wants Stan with long hair and for Stan to take him and he reaches down, starts yanking at Stan’s jeans only for Stan to grab both of his wrists and pin them down, a dark chuckle reverberating from within him, “Now, now princess…you still haven’t fulfilled your roll of the dice.”

“Lee…”Ford pants, “Can’t be serious…game’s-game’s over…”

“Nuh uh, not until I claim my prize,” his brother promises and his grip tightens on Ford’s wrists a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to send an unexpected thrill down Ford’s spine, “Underwear and pants off, Unattainabelle.”

“Why don’t you take them off?” Ford returns cockily and Stan grins, “As you wish, milady…”

He goes to release Ford’s wrists but suddenly inspiration strikes. He gives Ford a quick kiss, voice frim, “Don’t move.”

He gets up and Ford lies there, trying to relearn how to breathe, lust pulsing throughout his entire being. He hears Stan rummaging around behind him and wonders what his brother is up to only to find Stan back over him with a handful of items. He sits a foil packet to one side as well as some lube but the more interesting thing is a tie. It belongs to Ford, although he hasn’t worn it in some time. It’s mainly for when he’s doing work with the debate team.

Stan takes Ford’s wrists and wraps the tie around them, coiling it over and under before tying it good and tight. Ford gulps at his bound wrists, “Wh-what are you-?”

Stan kisses him deeply, tongue plunging deep, sliding slickly against Ford’s until his twin is nothing but a fountain of discontented noise, arms twitching, hands trying to get free but he just…he can’t get loose. And Stan pushes Ford’s arms over his head and winks at him, “Keep ‘em up there, princess.”

He tugs Ford’s pants and underwear off and Ford feels his whole body flush, knows he has to be a bright pink because he’s totally naked from the waist down and his cock is a throbbing, leaking mess. It twitches, brushing his stomach and he bites his bottom lip as Stan just…stares at it. Stares and doesn’t touch.

Stan raises a hand up as if to touch him but…doesn’t. Instead he just sort of hovers over him and Ford is wriggling now, desperate and eager and completely lost as to why Stan won’t hurry up and just fucking touch him, “Come on, _come on_ …what’re you waiting for?”

“Maybe I should roll for this.”

“WHAT!” It’s not a question so much as an exclamation of horror.

“See if I can get the right number to touch you.”

“Stanley!” Ford groans and he starts to sit up but Stan pushes his back down easily, “Now, now…calm down, your highness.”

“Stanley, I swear to god-!”

“Shh…it’s your birthday. You should relax.”

“ _Relax_?!”

Stan ignores Ford’s growing hysteria and instead finds the dice. He lightly tosses it about before dropping it on Ford’s quivering stomach. It lands on an eighteen. Stan whistles, “Wow, talk about lucky! Our age and everything.”

“You’re killing me…”

“Nope. Quite the opposite, really,” Stan chuckles and, he starts rubbing his hands up and down Ford’s sides but he’s not…he’s not touching the part of Ford that Ford wants him to touch and he lets out a whine, “Jesus, Lee…if-if you’re not gonna…gonna do something then just-just untie my hands and _I’ll_ do it.”

Stan hums, “Tempting. If I let you go, I can watch you jack yourself off with those sexy hands of yours. Maybe even let you come on me. Would you like that, sweetheart? Would you like to come all over my face, my chest? I might even let you rub it into my skin.”

An animal sound escapes Ford at that, the idea seared into his mind and he does want that. Fuck, he _really_ wants it, wants to mark Stan as his in the most primitive way possible. And on the opposite end, he is driving Ford close to tears with these endearments.

Yes, he’s just sort of playing with him –still playing with ‘Princess Unattainabelle’ –but calling him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘princess’ it’s just…it’s oddly romantic? And Ford doesn’t know how to feel about that. Romance is so close to that word they both avoid like the plague. And here’s Stan, dancing right on the razor’s edge of it. And could it possibly lead to him saying something he shouldn’t?

Or maybe not. Maybe Ford is just overthinking things, and he does his best to get his head back in the game as Stan picks up the dice, “How about we let the dice decide? Thirty Eight sides, right? How’s about nineteen and under, I let you go. Nineteen and over, well…I get to choose.”

Stan rolls and sees a twenty six. He beams, “So, my choice, then.”

He picks up the dice off of Ford’s stomach and puts it to one side before looking down at his bound brother thoughtfully, “What should I do with you?”

Ford closes his eyes and squirms. He really doesn’t care what Stan does so long as he does something and soon. He feels Stan’s big hands on his thighs and he’s parting his legs and diving down between them. He draws Ford’s aching dick into his mouth, sucking on it eagerly and Ford cries out incoherently, hips jerking up. Stan licks and sucks at him, hollows his cheeks and takes him as deep as possible. At one point he gags a little, obviously stretching himself farther than he should have.

But he’s undeterred. He just keeps at it, head bobbing up and down, lips and tongue gliding with determined precision and his hands are moving up Ford’s stomach, rucking up his shirt and the sounds leaving Ford are beyond pornographic but he just can’t help himself. It all feels so good, so seamless and then one of Stan’s fingers manages to brush one of his nipples and Ford’s whole body pulls taut like a bowstring because he’s so damned sensitive there.

Stan draws away entirely, licking his lips as he wipes some saliva away from his chin, “You sure as fuck taste good, Ford…even before you come, that little bit that escapes…so sweet.”

He only gets a muted sob in response and Stan kisses his forehead, his mouth, “Hey, it’s alright, I got you…”

And Ford’s legs are still curled up, still parted as Stan keeps kissing him and Ford hears the distinctive click of a cap opening and even with his eyes closed, he knows what Stan is doing with his hands – even more so when he feels a collected wetness washing over his dick and straining sack. Stan pauses here, one hand gently cupping Ford’s balls, tenderly fondling them until they grow even tighter and Ford’s breathing becomes an uneven, shallow wreck.

He moves on, going ever lower, until he’s right between his ass cheeks and then, oh then, that gratifying pressure against the tight ring of muscle that’s Ford’s entrance.

One finger eases in and then a second and Stan slowly loosens him but he never goes deep enough, never goes where he needs to, and they’ve done this enough now that Ford knows for a fact that Stan is literally fucking with him. He could give Ford pleasure, he could get him off, but instead he’s just-just toying with him and Ford lets out an aggravated huff, hips jutting back, trying to get Stan to go deeper, harder, trying to get Stan to hurry up and take him already.

And Stan – the bastard – merely laughs between their kissing, “You want something, darling?”

“You know what I want.” Ford hisses, “Come on, do it already!”

“Do what?”

“Lee!”

“Maybe I should roll again. If I don’t get a thirty eight then I probably shouldn’t.”

The glare he gets in response to this is legendary and Stan’s shit eating grin makes Ford want to punch him square in the face. But Stan finally seems to have reached the end of his fun as he pulls back to remove his own pants. He’s above Ford, gloriously naked, as he dons a condom. Then he takes Ford’s bounded wrists and loops them behind his neck. He presses their faces close together, “You’re gonna wanna hold on, princess. This is gonna be one hell of a ride.”

“You cannot claim me! I am Princess Unattainabelle!” Ford hisses haughtily because hey, Stan’s the one whose keeping this game running, so why not? No reason not to throw down a gauntlet. To challenge him because, maybe if he does, Stan will show that he truly is a beast in the sack.

Even if, in this case, the ‘sack’ is the floor.

“Well, baby, we’ll see about that.” Stan growls as he surges his entire, thick length deep into Ford’s body. Ford lets out a strangled breath against Stan’s mouth as Stan plunges out only to drive back in at full force and his pace…it’s brutal. He has Ford folded up damn near in half as he sinks himself into him repeatedly, ruthlessly and Ford?

Ford loves it.

Ford meets him, aggressive thrust for aggressive thrust, and normally he’s noisy as hell during sex but this time – this time he’s a shuttering, writhing mess. The sounds leaving him are muted, repressed as he’s lost in the sheer ecstasy of their-their mating. Because that’s what it is…mating. They’re like primal beasts rutting against one another and it only grows more so as Stan bites – no, chews – at Ford’s neck, grunting, “Yeah, you like that, sugar? Like how I’m taking you?”

Ford doesn’t answer with words, head just nodding wobbly and this time it’s Stan – it’s Stan who won’t shut up, Stan whose mouth is running a mile a minute as he grips Ford’s hips and pumps up into him, “That’s it…come on…so good… _Fuck_! Ford! _Ford_!”

“L- _uh_!-lee…” Ford says but it comes out in as a threadbare keen and for some reason the fact he’s being so – so restrained verbally seems to be driving Stan nuts. It’s like Stan can’t stand the idea of Ford not screaming from the top of his lungs like he normally does when they do this. Honestly, Ford doesn’t know why he’s so much quieter during this particular exchange, but he’s more than fine with it if Stan’s going to be this wonderfully aggressive about it.

Because he is.

He’s attacking Ford’s body with an almost inhuman amount of passion and Ford didn’t even know it was possible to feel this fucking high. It’s like he’s flying or on drugs or reaching another plane of existence or something and goddamn – how is sex with Stan _this_ fantastic every time? Yeah, there’s been some awkward moments but as a whole, it’s always…unbelievable. Ford doesn’t know what to make of that and if he was capable of thinking about it more deeply he would, but thinking isn’t something he can do right now.

At the moment he’s kissing Stan and feeling about as dumb as stump as his brother grips him tightly and locks eyes with him. Stan’s pupils are blown and his face is full of hunger as he suddenly snarls, “Mine.”

And Ford feels a cold sliver shoot through him because Stan’s never said that and he really _shouldn’t_ say that. It’s possessive and bad and this isn’t something they can do forever. And somehow Ford knows it’s about more than just the sex. It’s –it’s more than that. It’s serious and real and _everything_ and the way Stan’s saying it, the way he’s looking at him…

Ford shakes his head because they can’t do this. They can’t say this… _Stan_ can’t say this and his shaking his head seems to snap something in Stan and Stan’s hands dig into him, fingernails sharp and Ford cries out and Stan is kissing him and growling against his mouth, “You’re _mine_ , Stanford…mine, mine, _mine_!”

A long, strung out sound leaves Ford at that and Stan’s hand comes between them, wraps around Ford’s cock, gently rubbing up and down the silky, hard wet length as he breathes, “Mine…say it…”

“Oh god…oh god…can’t- _can’t_!”

“Say it,” Stan whispers, begs, “Please.”

“ _Ah_! Fuck! Yours, yours, _yours_ – Jesus, fuck, _fuck, fuck_!” Ford babbles as he hits his peak, his whole body igniting like a firework, bolts of delight shooting throughout every vein and it’s like a chain reaction, his climax spurring Stan’s on and Stan’s groan is so loud it probably shakes the very foundation of the building. He collapses on top of Ford, a sweaty, satisfied heap, his face buried in the collar of Ford’s shirt and – holy shit – Ford never even got fully undressed.

Ford would chuckle about that if he wasn’t so goddamn spent. He twitches a little, his wrists hurting as he clears his throat, “Uh…can you untie me now?”

Stan can’t help it. He bursts into laughter. And, much like their earlier orgasms, somehow it kicks Ford off into laughing too. They both laugh for quite a while like a couple of mad men but eventually Stan pulls away and he does as Ford asks. Ford’s wrists are bright pink and Stan feels sort of guilty at the sight. He rains kisses all over the marks but his brother waves him off, insisting that it doesn’t hurt and that it was totally worth it.

Stan smirks at him, “So, I guess now you’re Princess Attained...abelle.”

This is met with an eye roll, “You’re such a dork!”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to be a Princess.”

“Hmm, I should have offered to let you play as a Duchess,” Ford offers and Stan snorts at the idea. Ford, however, starts to run with it, “You could have been Duchess Splendora.”

“Maybe next time, Sixer.”

“Next time? I thought you hated this game.”

“Eh, I’m warming up to it. Especially if this is the way you really play it.”

Ford scratches his cheek, “Actually, it’s not.”

“Oh, I know. You made it a hell of a lot more fun than I remember. No math, no writing – I don’t even think we touched the graph paper.”

“Well, actually, I think we did – I think we might have crushed some of it under us when we, um…”

Stan looks around and sees some crumpled pieces of paper and beams, “Cool.”

Ford strips his shirts off and slowly gets to his feet, he heads towards the shower and Stan pretty much races after him, shouting, “Wait for me!”

Amazingly they manage to get cleaned up without messing around too much and when they exit they change into their respective sleeping attire. They each get a piece of their birthday cake and sit in the living room, cuddled up once again, idly watching television. Ford’s back in that place again, cozy and happy and wishing this is the way it could always be when Stan clears his throat, voice soft, “Hey, uh…Stanford?”

Ford looks at him.

Stan chews the inside of his cheek and doesn’t meet his eyes as he whispers, “Can-can you say your…your mine again? You know…with-without the other stuff going on?”

Ford swallows thickly and at first he’s not sure how to answer, but then Stan looks at him, his eyes sad as he admits, “It would be nice is, s’all…to-to hear it and…and for you to mean it.”

Ford looks at Stan and knows exactly why he wants this. Stan wants to hear it and he wants…he wants to think that Ford is his and that he can keep Ford forever. And Ford wants to say it. He does. But he knows he really shouldn’t. He knows it’s a bad idea, a horrible idea. But Stan is looking at him and he’s so sad and so handsome and Ford just can’t help himself.

He sets his plate of cake aside and takes Stan’s away, putting it out of reach before he giving Stan a warm kiss. When he draws away he breathes, “I’m yours, Stanley. Yours.”

Stan smiles and cups his face, staring into his eyes as he murmurs, “Best birthday ever.”

They resume kissing again, little knowing that while this would indeed be one of their best birthdays ever –it would also be the last one they would share for quite some time.


End file.
